IRLF 


, 


/ 


THE  RETURN 

AND      OTHER      POEMS 


BY 


REMSEN  DU  BOIS  BIRD 


SAN   FRANCISCO 
THE  PERIODICAL  PRESS 

MDCCCCXIX 


COPYRIGHT  1919  BY  REMSEN  DU  BOIS  BIRD 


PRINTED  BY   BRUCE   BROUGH   509  SANSOME  STREET  SAN   FRANCISCO  CALIFORNIA 


TO  MY  WIFE 


786963 


THESE  BITS  OF  VERSE  CAME  TO  ME 
IN  A  YEAR  OF  WANDERING  IN  A  CER 
TAIN  SORT  OF  WAR  SERVICE AND 

IN  THE  MONTHS  WHICH  HAVE  FOL 
LOWED  SINCE  THE  RETURN.  I  AM 
HAVING  THEM  PUBLISHED  WITH  THE 
HOPE  THAT  THEY  MAY  NOT  BE  WITH 
OUT  INTEREST  FOR  OTHERS,  AND 
THAT  I  MAY  HAVE  THE  SATISFACTION 
WHICH  ONE  ENJOYS,  IN  SEEING  ONE'S 
POEMS  GATHERED  TOGETHER  AND 
NICELY  SET  FORTH  IN  TYPE. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  PRAYER  TO  HER        .       .       ......       •       •  ll 

THE  HILLS         .       ,       .       .       .       ...       .       •       •       •  J3 

To  THE  PRESIDENT       .        .       .        ....        .       .       ...  _"  •     J4 

To  THE  KAISER         .       .       .       .       .       .       ,  .   ...       .       ...  J5 

To  CHAPLAIN  PESHALL        ........      '•  .16 


THE  CZECHS  AND  THE  POLES       ......        .        -       .18 

PEACE        .       ..       .'       .       .       .      '.       .       .       .       •       •       •         I9 

LAST  NIGHT  I  DREAMED  .       .       .       .       .       .       •       •       .2.0 

ToS.H.        .       .       .       .       .       .       .       ...       .       .       .21 

ToM.L  .....  '........       .        22 

IN  EVERY  HEART  .  .       ......       .       •       •     23 

A  HIGHROAD      ......       .    .    »"      .       .       •       •         24 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  CLIMBER         .       .  .       .....     2^ 

EVENING  AT  BOLINAS       .        .        .        .....       .  27 

THOUGHTS  OF  A  HALF-WITTED  BOY       .  .....         28 

TAKING  THE  CENSUS    ........       ./      .       .     29 

THE  RETURN  .....  .      .       .       .       .       .       -         3° 

THE  BOMB  THROWER  ...........     32 

YOUTH        .............         34 

THOUGHTS  OF  A  MANICURIST    ......       .       .        -35 

THE  INFLUENZA  AT  CORFOU    ...       ......         3^ 

THE  MEN  OF  THE  NAVY       .        .    •'.       .       .       .       .       •        •       -4° 

PARIS  IN  1918    ......       ......         45 

SAN  MARCO   ......       .       .       .       .       .       .       -5° 

VERSAILLES       .........       •       •       •         54 

CHLOTILDE     .        .        .        .       .       .       .       ......       •     5^ 

THE  UNION  JACK      ......       .  .       .       .         5^ 


CONTENTS 


OUR  SERVICE  FLAG 59 

FROM  THE  DEAD 60 

PEACE! 63 

SUNSET 64 

A  HYMN  OF  ASSURANCE 65 

SPRING  SONG  OF  A  LOVER  OF  JUDAH 66 

WORDS 67 

VACHEL  LINDSAY 70 

A  ROSE 72 

THE  MAGNATE 73 

A  PRAYER  FOR  THE  COUNTRY 79 


THE  RETURN 


THE   RETURN 

A    BOOK    OF    VERSE  J  \\ 

*  **  *          * 
*  ,  *     9      *      »     » 

A  PRAYER  FOR  HER 

Thou  gavest  me,  O  my  Father, 

Many  things; 

Life,  and  the  zest  of  living, 

Home,  friends,  and  faith  in  Thee, 

Thy  Son,  who  showed  Thee  as  Thou  art, 

To  us,  here  in  a  world,  where 

Sin  and  self,  struggle  in  combat 

With  the  life  He  lived 

And  showed  to  men. 

Thou  gavest  these. 

Thou  gavest  also 

Her, 

In  whom  are  gathered  all 

That's  best  of  home,  friends,  faith 

And  that  great  love,  that  lingers, 

That  lifts  the  heart,  the  whole  of  life 

To  Thee. 

I  pray  for  Her. 


THE    RETURN 


May  She  be  kept  by  Thee  in  health, 

And  strength 

And  constantly  assured 

That  all  is  well, 

That  Thou,  the  Maker, 

Guidest  all  aright. 

Bless  Her  service,  the  things  She  makes, 

Her  great  heart,  sad  within, 

But  ever  cheerful  to  the  world. 

Keep  Her  confidant,  courageous, 

And  at  the  end  of  all  the  strife, 

May  the  life  lived  here,— 

If  Thou  permittest  the  return,— 

Give  me  the  right, 

To  be  with  Her  and  care  for  Her 

Throughout  the  years, — and  may  those  years 

Bring  Joy,  Peace,  and  Love, 

Through  Christ,  whose  love, 

Her  love  makes  better  known. 

AMEN. 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


THE  HILLS 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes, 

Far  up  to  the  hills, 

The  hills  where  the  winds  are  playing. 
I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes, 

As  my  heart  upfills 
With  the  words  that  the  hills  are  saying. 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes, 

Far  up  to  the  hills, 

The  hills  where  the  clouds  are  straying. 
I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes, 

As  my  spirit  thrills, 
And  I  gaze  on  the  hills  in  praying. 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes, 

Far  up  to  the  hills, 
The  hills  for  a  heart  outfraying. 
I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes 

To  a  God  who  wills 
His  Peace  and  to  none  delaying! 


THE    RETURN 


TO  THE  PRESIDENT 

We  said,  "The  reef  is  here,  Pilot,  beware! 

Mark  how  its  intermittent  black  stands  bold 

Against  the  sky."  But  ere  we  spoke,  behold 

We  saw  that  you  had  fixed  our  course  with  care 

And  cleared  the  treach'rous  rocks  and  hidden  bar. 

We  cried  again,  "See  yonder  ships  ablaze! 

All  speed  to  save !"  And  in  the  morning  haze 

We  seemed  to  lag.  Yet  you  had  seen  afar. 

Our  Pilot,  o'er  a  wind-tossed  wild  sea, 

How  sure  we  sailed  through  darkness  unto  light. 

You  brought  us  safe,  though  fearful  was  the  night, 

To  waters  calm,  within  the  sheltered  lea. 

We  talked.  You  held  the  wheel.  You  made  the  way. 

You  saved  the  men  at  sea.  And  yon's  the  bay! 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


TO  THE  KAISER 

Not  many  years  ago,  I  stood  with  friends 

With  whom  I  lived,  near  Tempelhoferfeld, — 

Two  comrades  who  believed  in  you  and  held 

You  king  of  all  their  thoughts.  We  stood  where  ends 

The  Linden,  where  the  broad  Lustgarten  starts. 

And  in  the  surging  throng  we  craned  our  heads 

To  see  you  march.  Behind  one  of  the  reds 

Grumbled  and  swore,  but  in  our  student  hearts 

We  highly  honored  you.  'Twas  Sedan  Day 

And  it  was  stated  in  the  press  you  would 

With  your  six  sons  parade,  and  so  we  stood 

To  watch  you  pass  in  all  your  glad  array. 

My  friends  are  dead !  They  died  in  France  for  you ! 

What  death  you've  caused,  you  and  your  brutal  crew! 


THE    RETURN 


TO  CHAPLAIN  PESHALL 

The  Resurrection  was  your  theme  to-day, 
And  all  the  evidence  you  marshalled  out, 
To  prove  to  us,  beyond  the  slightest  doubt, 
That  to  a  risen  Christ  we  kneel  and  pray,— 
To  one  who  gained  o'er  death  the  victory 
And  won,  for  those  who  love,  immortal  life 
With  God  above.  How  sweet  amid  the  strife 
To  be  so  sure,  to  have  such  certainty. 
Yet  as  you  talked,  I  looked  at  you  and  thought 
"How  fine  his  face!  How  kind  his  eyes!  And  when 
He  speaks,  though  much  there  is  to  doubt,  the  men 
Believe.  They  like  him  well,  for  he  has  sought 
To  be  their  friend,  to  fill  his  Lord's  commands." 
The  Christ  has  risen  ?  Yes,  in  you  He  stands ! 


16 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


THE  WAR  GOES  ON 

The  War  goes  on,  O  Rome !  Yet  thou  dost  stand 

Upon  thy  hill,  within  thy  sheltered  walls, 

And  hearest  not  the  cries  on  every  hand 

For  judgment  true!  Thy  King,  our  Master,  calls 

From  battlefield.  'Tis  there  he  now  is  found, 

With  his  strong  sons,  who  there  avenge  the  Right, 

Who  freely  pour  upon  the  open  ground 

Their  precious  blood,  for  Him,  for  Truth,  and  Light. 

Dost  thou  not  hear,  O  Rome  ?  He  calls  to  thee, 

Before  the  end  is  here,  the  conflict's  won 

To  take  thy  place  with  these  who  make  men  free, 

To  speak  his  word,  and  say,  "This  evil  shun !" 

The  Christ,  He  died  for  Truth,  yet  thou  dost  wait. 

Thou  Judge,  judge  now,  before  it  is  too  late! 


THE    RETURN 


THE  CZECHS  AND  THE  POLES 

The  Czechian  island,  many  years  submerged, 

Beneath  the  flood  of  Austrian  control, 

Beneath  the  Hapsburg  tides,  which  backward  roll 

These  later  days, — by  inward  forces  urged 

By  outward  leverage  applied, — has  surged 

Now  high  above,  with  fast  enlarging  shoal. 

The  mountains  clear,  the  valleys  dry,  the  whole 

From  poisoned  waters  and  from  stagnant  purged. 

And  there  beyond  from  that  same  ocean  floor 

Another  land  has  risen  well  to  view, 

Poland,  the  torn  by  many  a  hostile  power, 

The  freed  by  friends  whose  blood  has  paid  her  score. 

And  some  rejoice,  and  some  give  thanks, — a  few, 

And  some  proceed  to  kill  in  Freedom's  hour. 


18 


A    BOOK   OF    VERSE 


PEACE 

The  evening  milk's  all  in,  the  horses  fed, 
The  sun's  gone  down  beyond  the  forest  hill 
Above  the  gentle  river's  bend,  where  will 
Our  work  begin  at  dawn.  Hark!  from  the  bed, 
The  children's  quiet  breathing.  Sweet,  the  sound ! 
The  great  black  coals  upon  the  hearth  glow  bright 
Above.  The  lamp  sheds  clear  and  soft  its  light 
About  the  simple  living  room.  Our  hound 
Before  the  open  fire  sleeps  and  dreams, 
The  women  sit  and  sew,  and  I  read  by 
The  light,  our  latest  News  and  hold  it  high 
To  see  the  print  within  the  lamp's  sure  gleam. 
How  much  our  paper  fills  its  space  with  plate! 
But  then,  there's  been  so  little  news  of  late! 


THE    RETURN 


LAST  NIGHT  I  DREAMED 

Last  night  I  dreamed  of  thee !  The  heart  and  mind 
In  slumber  by  the  will  are  uncontrolled, 
And  thoughts,  which  in  the  waking  hours,  I  hold 
Enchained,  and  deep  emotions,  which  I  bind, 
As  in  a  dungeon  dark,  unloosed  I  find 
By  sleep,  which  gently  doth  the  will  enfold 
And  leaves  the  heart  and  mind  to  be  as  bold 
As  laughing  truants  from  the  school's  dull  grind. 
Last  night  I  dreamed  of  thee!  I  kissed  the  strands 
Of  perfumed  hair  the  wind  blew  'gainst  my  face, 
And  in  the  lambent  light  of  moon  I  dared 
Thy  wine  red  lips  to  press,  and  with  my  hands 
Thy  loveliness  to  frame.  There  was  no  trace 
Of  pain  as  there  in  sleep  my  love  stood  bared! 


20] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


TO  S.  H. 

All  Spring,  with  its  pure  charms — and  new,  is  hers, 

Whose  cheeks  are  flushed  with  rich  red  wine  of  youth, 

Whose  voice  is  clear — a  silver  bell,  forsooth, — 

And  when  she  speaks,  its  tuneful  sound,  bestirs 

The  heart  to  rapturous  regard, — and  when 

She  draws  but  near,  so  lovely  is  her  air, 

And  full  of  grace,  her  form, — bewitching  fair — 

She  doth  enchant  and  hold  the  gaze  of  men. 

Yet  from  this  maiden  charming  as  the  fawn, 

To  you  I  turn,  whose  loveliness  excels, 

Whose  beauty  is  as  full  as  Summer's  rose 

Of  Nature's  art — the  Day  for  which  the  Dawn 

Sweeps  far  the  Night.  On  thy  fair  self  there  dwells 

Content  my  gaze  in  lingering  repose. 


THE    RETURN 


TO  M.  L. 

You  asked  me,  what  is  there  of  poetry 

In  life  for  you,  whose  eighth  full  lustrum  lies 

Within  the  past.  The  clear  red  glow  which  flies 

Into  the  maiden's  cheek,  to  chivalry 

Provokes.  You  say,  you  have  it  not, — and  there 

Are  lines  about  the  eyes,  and  that  soft  brown 

And  lustrous  hair  hath  turned  to  grey — a  crown 

No  more,  above  a  face  which  once  was  fair! 

'Tis  so  you  speak — but  far  it  is  from  truth. 

A  loveliness  there  is,  that  fills  the  heart 

With  warmth,  that's  yours,  that  charms  e'en  more  to-day 

Than  other  graces  in  the  days  of  youth. 

Doth  Love  grow  old  ?  Hath  Motherhood  no  Art  ? 

Can  Beauty  in  the  faithful  life  e'er  fade  away? 


22] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


IN  EVERY  HEART 

In  every  heart,  there  is  a  flame.  The  blaze 

Sometimes  is  clear,  sometimes  it  sputters  blue 

Sometimes  'tis  all  snuffed  out, — and  sad  the  few 

Who  have  it  not,  who  in  their  later  days 

Must  trudge  along,  without  its  inner  light, 

Without  the  gladness  which  it  brings  a  soul 

Upon  the  way,  there  striving  for  the  goal 

Which  its  pure  gleam  doth  ever  hold  in  sight. 

This  inner  light,  is  just  the  joy  to  be, 

To  overcome  and  conquer  in  the  strife, 

To  give,  to  serve  all  others  in  this  life 

With  whom  one  walks.  The  power  which  feeds  for  me 

This  flame,  is  that  clear  oil,  which  a  friend, 

By  his  sure  faith,  pours  on,  e'en  to  the  end. 


THE    RETURN 

A  HIGHROAD  IN  NORTHERN  ITALY 

WHERE  THE  REFUGEES  TRUDGED  WEARILY  ALONG 

It's  abroad  road, 

The  highroad, 

Triple  flanked  with  tall  trees. 
It's  a  straight  road, 

A  glad  road, 
How  soft  and  sweet  the  breeze! 

It's  an  old  road, 

The  highroad 
Ever  crossed  at  the  ridge, 
It's  a  tried  road 

A  proved  road 
At  every  Roman  bridge. 

It's  a  sure  road 

The  highroad 

Leading  down  from  the  hills. 
It's  a  true  road 

A  kind  road 
To  everyone  who  wills. 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


It's  a  sad  road 

The  highroad 
See  how  deep  are  its  ruts. 
It's  a  sad  road, 

A  hard  road. 
O  God !  How  sorrow  cuts ! 


THE    RETURN 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CLIMBER 

In  Firenze,  I  have  found  her, 

I  have  found  her  in  Firenze. 

In  Firenze,  I  have  found  the  lass  I  love, 

And  as  I  climb  the  mountain, 

Bent  beneath  the  heavy  burden 

Of  this  gun  upon  my  shoulder, 

My  heart  it  goes  on  beating, 

Beating  faster,  faster  beating, 

Ever  with  the  strain  a-leaping. 

In  Firenze,  I  have  found  her. 

I  have  found  her  in  Firenze. 

O  Maria !  what  a  lovely  thing  she  is ! 


26] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


EVENING  AT  BOLINAS 

I  know  where  clouds  are  hanging  in  the  sky, 

Grey  clouds,  through  which  the  graceful  sea  mews  fly. 

I  know  where  emerald  valleys  calmly  rest 

Beneath  gold  hills  whose  summits  last  are  blessed, 

As  from  our  mild  mist-spread  sheltered  bay, 

The  night  so  gently  deprehends  the  day. 

'Tis  there  I  long  to  be  with  you,  to  roam 

On  mesa  high  and  watch  the  sudden  foam, 

Which  lights  for  us  the  great  grey  stretch  of  sea 

And  gladdens  you — and  saddens  you  and  me. 


THE    RETURN 


THOUGHTS  OF  A  HALF-WITTED  BOY 
IN  THE  SUMMERTIME 

They  who  live  in  the  heat  of  the  city 

Swelter  and  sweat  and  Oh  what  a  pity. 

They  who  move  to  the  hills  in  the  summer 

Were  never  close  friends  of  the  grocer  and  plumber. 

They  who  have  sugar  and  sweets  and  canned  jellies 

Could  never  agree  with  men  of  lean  bellies. 

I've  seen  the  children  all  naked  and  dirty 

Washed  by  the  hydrant  to  the  number  of  thirty. 

I've  seen  a  servant  girl  hanging  up  clothes 

And  I've  seen  a  passer-by  stick  up  her  nose. 

Oh  what  a  glorious  land  we  are  living  in. 

Why  are  the  workers  constantly  giving  in  ? 

My  brother's  con  is  bad.  Gee!  but  he  coughs  a  lot. 

I  wouldn't  mind  it  much  if 'tweren't  so  awful  hot. 

Jim  is  the  cop  who  comes  when  the  lights  are  dim. 

He  sure  is  good  to  me,  but  my  pop's  afraid  of  him. 

Oh  I'm  so  proud  of  this  my  beloved  land 

Where  all  are  so  kind  and  give  me  the  helping  hand, 

Where  no  one's  in  want  and  all  have  enough  to  eat 

Of  butter  and  milk,  of  eggs  and  of  sausage  meat, 

At  least  all  except  the  woman  in  forty-two, 

Wbo  can  t  get  no  work  and  her  rent  is  long  overdue! 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


TAKING  THE  CENSUS 

In  this  house  there  live 

Twelve  women. 

Their  names? 

Josie,  Rosie,  Phillis 

And  Jane — and. 

Oh,  put  down  any  old  names 

Any  old  names'd  do. 

Last  names? 

Hell !  They  ain't  got  no  last  names ! 

Twelve  of  God's  children 
Defaced  and  defamed, 
Desired,  deserted 
Drifting  along, 
Swept  by  life's  current 
Of  tinsel  and  song. 

Twelve  sisters  of  Mary, 
The  Mother  of  Mercy 
The  Mother  of  Jesus, 
Whose  love  is  His  rod. 
Twelve  nameless 
Forsaken 
Children  of  God! 

[29] 


THE    RETURN 


THE  RETURN 

Take  it  from  me,  Bo! 
This  town  ain't  got  no  character! 
Look  at  that  ugly  red  station, 
And  the  cinders  around  it 
And  sand. 

Look  at  the  false  fronts 

On  them  stores, 

And  the  restaurants 

There  along  side, — 

Jimmie's  Fly  Trap! 

Johnnie's  New  Grill! 

Ain't  they — all  of 'em — fierce? 

Look  at  that  church 
Up  the  road, 
With  its  windows 
All  broken  and  dirty! 

And  its  the  same 
Down  at  Vaughan, 
And  Sims,  and  Crosses 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


And  Derby, — 

And  the  whole  country 

Through  which  we  come! 

And  here's  where  we  live ! 
Ain't  it  just  one  hell  of  a  place, 
For  you  and  me,  Buddy, 
Who've  seen 

The  Cathedral  at  Chartres, 
Versailles  and  the  Louvre, 
And  the  bridges  over  the  Seine! 


THE    RETURN 


THE  BOMB  THROWER 

She  got  eleven  cents  for  a  dozen, 
Checked  and  turned  in, 
And  if  she  worked, 

Without  stop 

Without  raising  her  head 
She  could  clean  up  three  dozen 

In  an  hour, 
And  if  she  removed  the  safety,— 

Hazardous, 

No  employer's  liability  there, — 
The  little  wheel  worked  quietly 

But  how  it  could  mangle 

And  tear  the  soft  flesh,— 
Witness  Agnes  and  Mag  and  Fannie, 

Poor  kids!— 
But  if  she  removed  it, 
She  could  do  a  dozen  more. 

And  the  rent  was  always  a  month  overdue,— 
And  butter  and  eggs  and  milk  for  us  youngsters 
She  was  determined  we'd  have  them,— 
The  damn  stock  brokers 
Kept  ever  climbing. 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


So  she  worked  by  the  piece, 

Fourteen  years, 

And  then  the  crash  came 

And  it  wrecked  her 

And  killed  her. 

And  I  her  son  worked  on  the  wagons. 

You  smooth  face  oily  bunkshooter 
Get  away  from  my  window! 
What  the  hell  you  think  this  is  anyway 
A  menagerie? 

Yes,  I  threw  the  bomb. 

Damn  fool  I  know, 

But  my  God! 

How  I  hate 

The  guys  that  employ  us ! 


33 


THE    RETURN 


YOUTH! 

Haven't  I  studied  chemistry 

Two  years  ? 

It's  only  required  one, 

But  I  elected  it,  See! 

I  guess  I  know  something 

About  atoms  and  molecules 

Electrons  and 

Qualitative  analysis! 

I  guess  I  know 
Everything's  reducible 
To  centers  of  force 
And  controllable 
By  unchangeable  laws! 

I  guess  I  know 

A  thing  or  two! 

Don't  talk  tome 

About  miracles,  or  scripture, 

Or  God! 


34 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


THOUGHTS  OF  A  MANICURIST 

I  clean,  trim, 
And  beautify 
Finger  nails, 
All  day  long! 

How  does  that  appeal  to  you 
As  a  vocation? 

Glistening  pearls 
Set  in  pale  rubies 
On  tapering  fingers 
Of  milk  white  hands, — 
Little  hands 
Slim  soft  hands, 
Knowing  no  work. 

Rugged,  precise 

Square,  well-kept  nails — 

Other  nails 

Of  languid  ladies 

And  colorless  goops! 

Queer 

I  never  clean  any  nails, 

Like  mother's! 

[35] 


THE  RETURN 


THE  INFLUENZA  AT  CORFOU,  GREECE 

Here  on  this  sunkissed  sacred  knoll, 

With  the  kindly  gnarled  and  hoary  olive  trees 

Guarding  us  round,— 

Serene  Ben  Ezras,  watching  in  sympathy, 

As  here  we  mourn, — 

We  gather  once  more 

To  lay  away  our  dead, 

To  honor  our  friends 

Whose  spirits  have  sped 

Out  of  the  light 

Into  the  darkness 

Into  the  night 

And  into  the  full  pure  light 

Of  perfect  day  again. 

Here  we  gather 

'Neath  these  kindly  olive  boughs 

And  yonder  cypress  trees  of  hope, 

On  this  far  island 

By  many  benedictions  overbowed, 

An  emerald  flashing  its  shades  of  green 

Dropped  in  a  sapphire  ocean,— 

To  honor  our  rich  and  blessed  dead. 

[36] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


These  are  our  friends 

Who  have  fallen  for  us, 

Fallen  for  the  land 

Of  love  and  dreams 

And  for  a  cause  which  is 

Righteous  and  just. 

Not  by  the  speeding  bullets 

From  a  mitrailleuse, 

Were  they  called  to  leave  us  here, 

Not  by  the  bursting  shell 

Spreading  its  pieces  to  their  slaughter, 

Nor  by  the  thrust  of  an  offender 

In  the  light  of  rocket 

And  the  clear  sure  glare  of  star, 

But  by  the  certain  force  of  stalking  dread  disease, 

Coming  with  flame  destroying  torch 

Over  the  verdant  fields 

And  no  one  there  to  question 

For  the  forts  were  broken  down 

And  the  defenders 

Almost  dead. 


37 


THE    RETURN 


These  our  friends 

Have  fallen,  before  the  hosts 

Of  dread  disease 

Because  the  strength  of  life 

Had  gone  in  gallant  service 

In  defending  right  and  truth, 

Against  the  dragon  demons  of  the  sea. 

Let  us  here  lay  their  bodies 
'Neath  these  kindly  trees,  to  rest. 

Their  spirits  are  not  here 
For  they  have  risen 
To  those  homes  which  Christ 
For  them  has  well  prepared. 

Beneath  the  olive  trees,  He  prayed  for  us 
Beneath  the  olive  trees  He  shed  his  blood  for  us 
And  from  the  olive  trees 
As  others  watched 
He  rose  on  high. 


[38] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


To  Him  we  commit  our  dead. 

With  Him  we  leave  our  dead 

With  Him  who  died  and  rose  again 

And  said 

The  Love  of  man  is  greatest 

When  it  gives, 

When  it  gives  itself 

For  those  who  are  its  friends 

And  giving  makes  the  life  here 

Cease  to  be. 


[39 


THE    RETURN 

THE  MEN  OF  THE  NAVY 
Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

The  enemy  lurks  in  the  waters  below, 
The  enemy  trains  his  gun  from  the  shore, 
The  enemy  flies  far  above  in  the  sky, 
The  enemy  plants  in  the  channel  his  mines 
Where  the  path  is  sure 
Where  thegou/et  is  narrow 
And  the  rocks  are  high. 

Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

Little  fishing  boats 

Raise  their  sails 

And  leave  the  friendly  wall, 
Transports,  blotched  with  many  a  color 

Carry  their  precious  loads  of  men, 
And  heavy  freighters,  laden  with  cargoes, 

Of  oil  and  powder, 

Of  steel  and  lumber, 

Of  food  and  clothes, 

Of  guns  and  high  explosives 
Sail  steadily  on  and  on. 

[40] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

The  men  on  battleships 

Cruisers 

Destroyers 

Minesweepers,  sea-planes,  submarines, 
Transports,  colliers,  trawlers, 

Tug-boats, 

Chasers, 

And  private  yachts,  once  trim  and  white, 
Ships  men  built  for  pleasure, 
But  now 

In  the  service 

Tried  and  proved 

Worthy  convoyers. 

Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

Sweeping  up  mines,  stopping  up  ports 

Dropping  depth  charges 
Convoying  merchantmen, 

Transports  and  freighters 
Loading  great  vessels 

With  coal  at  sea, 


THE    RETURN 


Saving  men  from  boats  ablaze 

Picking  up  survivors 
Passing  many  a  weary  hour 
Doing  many  a  noble  deed 

With  never  a  word 

With  never  a  thought 

Of  the  hazard. 

Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

Down  in  the  bellies  of  many  ships 
They  shovel  coal— 
The  stokers. 

Others  high  in  cro'nests  gaze  afar 

For  periscopes  against  the  waves 
For  jutting  rocks  and  buoys 
For  lighthouses  and  mines 
And  for  the  great  blue  stretch 
Of  distant  land. 

Others  wash  down  decks 
And  polish  brass 
And  cook  the  food 
And  weary,  hold  the  wheel. 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


Others  listen  for  the  click 

The  click,  amid  the  whir, 
The  click  that  gives  command 
That  calls  far  out  upon  the  waters 
"We  need  your  help!" 

Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

Officers  and  crew 
Men,  who  sleep 

A  hundred 

In  quarters  made  for  ten 
With  portholes  closed 
With  air,  like  poison  gas 

School  boys 

Clerks 

Musicians 

And  men 
Whose  care  was  play. 

Quietly  they  work  upon  the  mighty  deep. 

Let  us  here  praise  them 
Their  quiet  service 
Their  humility 


43 


THE    RETURN 

Their  steadfastness 

Their  cheerfulness 

Their  efficiency 

Their  achievement 

Their  patriotism 

Their  heroism 
(Of  which  they  never  speak) 
Let  us  here  praise  them 

These  men! 

The  men  of  the  Navy! 

The  men  of  Our  Navy! 

Our  Navy,  Our  Own  Navy! 

Our  Navy  most  glorious. 


Permission  of  THE  OUTLOOK  Co. 


44 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


PARIS  IN  THE  SPRING  OF  1918 

Paris  is  Beautiful!  Beautiful 

As  a  Song 

As  a  Worn  an 

As  a  Young  Girl, 
Dancing  in  the  moonlight 
On  the  soft  cool  grass, 
Amid  an  odor 

Of  hyacinths 

And  roses, 
With  music 
And  singing 

As  incense, 

Coming 

From  beyond  the  trees. 

But  War  is  in  the  Northland, 
And  here  in  Paris,  so  Beautiful, 
Men  gather  and  ponder, 

Planning 

Lamenting 

Believing 

Rejoicing 


45 


THE    RETURN 


And  all,  amid  lovely  flowers 
And  under  heavy  shades 
And  on  roads,  as  smooth  as  glass, 
That  wind  along  and  over 

A  River 

That  shines 

As  silver 

And  gladdens,  the  passer-by. 
Here  men  talk  of  War 
And  wounded  ones, 

With  bandaged  heads 

And  empty  sleeves 

And  tired  eyes 
Sit  idly  by 

And  dream 

And  over  all,  the  sky  is  blue 
And  in  the  trees,  birds  chatter 
And  sing  their  notes 

Now  shrill, 

Now  pure. 

So  is  Paris !  So  is  she 
Amid  the  War, 

War  the  Terrible, 

War  the  Wanton, 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


War  the  Destroyer, 
And  yet,  by  God  and  Sacrifice  and  Daring, 

War  the  Redeemer 

And  the  Builder 
War  that  will  bring 
New  Songs  to  Paris,  and  a  Beauty 

In  the  Life  of  Man 

In  the  Hearts  of  those 

Who  suffer 
Such  as  the  world 
Has  never  dreamed  could  be! 

\ 
Paris,  shall  be  a  Symbol, 

A  Symbol  of  Beauty, 

A  Symbol  of  Freedom,  of  Faith, 

A  Symbol  of  Soul  Achievement, 
A  Symbol  of  Life,  given  up  in  sacrifice, 

By  young  and  old, 
By  Women, 

Strong  of  heart 

With  clear  eyes  glistening, 
By  little  children, 

Laughing  in  the  courtyard, 
And  Warm-eyed  maidens 

With  flowers  in  their  hair, 

[47] 


THE    RETURN 


And  all 

For  Truth 
And  Right 
And  Light. 

And  men  shall  worship 

'Neath  her  trees 

And  by  her  River 

And  amid  the  odors 

Of  her  fragrant  flowers. 
They  shall  worship  there 

Love  incarnate, 

And  the  Light  of  Life 

And  God, 
And  they  shall  find 

In  her  homes 

And  on  her  streets 

And  in  the  places,  where  are  gathered, 
Her  sons  and  daughters, 

Happiness 

And  Peace 

And  the  Master  Builder. 


[48 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


Tis  a  Vision 

It  will  surely  come. 

Wait  for  it! 
It  may  tarry. 

But  wait  for  it. 
It  will  surely  come 

To  Paris, 

Paris,  the  Beautiful, 
Beautiful 

As  a  Song 

As  a  Woman 

As  a  Young  Girl 
Dancing  in  the  Moonlight 
On  the  soft  cool  grass. 


Permission  of  THE  CONTINENT 


49 


THE    RETURN 


SAN  MARCO 

The  convent  of  San  Marco, 

'Tis  a  lovely  place! 

Tis  like  a  pool  of  water 

Fresh  and  sweet  and  cool 

And  covered  o'er  with  moss. 

Ferns  are  growing  there 

And  flowers  of  a  fragrant  lily  sort, 

And  now  and  then 

A  child  happens  by 

And  stooping  by  the  water's  edge, 

Quenches  there  its  thirst, 

And  round  the  pool 

There  are  great  trees  shading  the  water 

And  reflecting  in  its  calm  unrippled  surface 

Their  graceful  forms. 

And  there's  green  sward  about 

And  up  above  and  through  the  trees 

The  clear  blue  perfect  sky, 

Lying  on  one's  back, 

Can  well  be  seen, 

And  there  beyond  the  shaded  grove  and  pool, 

There  is  a  road, 

The  noises  can  be  heard, 

[50] 


A    BOOK   OF   VERSE 


But  not  as  noise,  more  as  a  whir 

Of  busy  life  below, 

And  there  beyond  the  road 

A  village  lies. 

And  now  and  then, 

The  hammer  on  the  anvil  can  be  heard, 

And  the  sound  of  children's  voices 

In  their  play, 

And  such  a  wrangle  as  one  hears 

Upon  a  village  street, — 

And  as  one  lies  there  by  the  pool 

The  many  sounds  come  up  into  the  quiet  grove 

As  something  strangely  sweet ! 

So  is  San  Marco's 

Such  a  pool, 

Such  a  calm  and  lovely  place 

Such  a  grove 

Beneath  the  clearly  blue  perfect  sky 

Which  spread  above 

The  busy,  toiling,  wrangling,  happy  life! 

But  in  this  world  beyond  San  Marco's 

There  is  War ! 

War  in  a  world  where  flowers 

Are  uprooted 


THE    RETURN 


And  trees  are  thrown  down, 

And  waters,  fresh  and  cool, 

Are  poisoned! 

And  quiet  country  roads, 

Disturbed  but  in  the  early  morn 

And  evening  hour,  by  peasants'  carts, 

Now  shake  beneath 

The  rumbling  loaded  camions, 

And  little  village  places 

There  beyond  the  roads 

Are  now  all  broken  down 

A  mass  of  smoking  ruins 

And  little  children,  playing  in  the  grove, 

They  are  no  more, 

And  the  soft  green  sward 

'Tis  overturned  for  new  made  graves. 

There  the  crosses  are  inscribed 

And  with  the  flags 

All  standing  in  a  row. 

And  yet  San  Marco's 
Such  a  lovely  peaceful  place 
From  all  this  bitter  wanton  war 
Which  wakes,  redeems  the  world 
Is  not  removed, 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


For  I  saw  there  the  signs  upon  the  walls 

Written  in  many  tongues 

Having  the  German  words  all  roughly  crossed 

And  some  smudged  out ! 

And  over-pasted,  Oh !  the  glory  of  it ! 

Pictures  of  Belgium  babies 

And  the  call  to  rescue  them ! 

The  convent  of  San  Marco, 

Tis  a  lovely  place,  'tis  like  a  pool 

So  fresh  and  sweet  and  cool, 

And  up  above, 

Far  up  above 

The  clear  blue  perfect  sky 

Through  the  high  and  graceful  trees 

Can  evermore 

Can  evermore 

Be  seen ! 


53 


THE    RETURN 


VERSAILLES 

And  when  the  time  came, 
The  full  time,  the  sure  time, 
For  which  he  waited, 
He  said  to  us, 
"It's  now  our  war, 
The  foe  of  the  allies 
Is  now  our  foe! 

Justice,  Righteousness  and  Truth, 
Freedom  and  Peace, 
And  that  sweet  heritage, 
For  which  the  fathers  of  our  land 
Gave  all  to  gain, 

And  then,  with  their  own  lives  defended,- 
The  right  to  govern  self, 
To  grow  and  be  and  feel, 
Without  the  yoke  of  the  oppressor, 
And  the  burden  of  a  tyrant's  hand- 
Are  lost, 

For  us  and  all  the  world, 
If  these  brave  men 
Who  stem  the  great  grey  tide 
In  the  northern  fields  of  France, 
Go  down  submerged !" 

[54] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


"Arise,"  said  he, 

'Tor  Freedom  and  Mankind !" 

And  we  arose, 

A  nation,  mighty,  dreaming,  strong. 

No  thought  of  self, 

No  secret  planned  designs, 

Naught  but  the  freedom 

Which  we  loved, 

Was  in  our  hearts  and  eyes. 

But  ere  we  stood  in  our  full  strength 

The  tide  fell  back 

The  world  was  saved, 

The  War  was  won ! 

In  the  great  long  hall  of  mirrors, 
Which  Louis,  the  Arrogant,  planned, 
Where  Bismarck,  the  Iron,  wielded 
The  power  made  for  his  hand, 
There  stands  our  trusted  leader, 
Lonely  and  true  and  grand! 
"We'll  take  this,"  says  someone, 
"And  that  strip  of  land  is  our  pay." 
"Ridiculous,  this  talk  of  Wilson. 
For  what  did  we  fight  anyway?/ 


55 


THE    RETURN 


CHLOTILDE 

Name  of  a  Queen ! 
Name  of  a  lass, 

With  soft  warm  eyes 

And  a  merry  laugh, 
And  a  voice,  like  the  voice  of  a  brook 

Which  flows  o'er  a  pebbled  bed 

Where  the  rocks  are  smooth 

And  the  banks  are  green 

All  covered  with  deep  fern  moss. 
Chlotilde!  Chlotilde! 
Name  of  a  Queen 
Name  of  a  lass, 

Of  such  loveliness 

As  the  fresh  clear  air 

Of  the  open  field  in  the  early  morn 
When  the  dew's  on  the  grass 
And  the  light  of  the  sun  on  the  kine 
As  they  pass  to  the  meadow  land  beyond. 

Chlotilde!  Chlotilde!  of  fair  Savoy 
How  I  love  to  repeat  thy  name 

As  I  think  of  thy  lips, 

How  red  they  were 

[56] 


A  BOOK  OF  VERSE 


And  thy  hands. 

Both  given  to  mine  to  guard, 
And  the  touch  of  thy  cheek 
Oh!  the  joy  it  gave 

Like  the  joy  in  richest  wine! 


57] 


THE    RETURN 


THE  UNION  JACK 

The  Blood  and  Guts  of  England! 

Raise  on  high! 
The  Blood  and  Guts  of  England 

Let  it  fly! 

The  Blood  and  Guts  of  England. 

Hear  him  rave! 
The  Hun  slinks  by  to  homeland, 

See  it  wave! 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


OUR  SERVICE  FLAG 

Our  Service  Flag,  of  purest  white 

Dipped  in  the  red  of  richest  blood, 

And  studded  o'er  with  stars, — 

Deep  blue  and  shining  gold, — 

Hangs  high  above  the  chancel  rail. 

But  gently  does  it  move,  there  high  aloft, 

Where  currents  of  the  nave  and  transept  meet, 

And  rightly  does  it  hand,  so  near  the  cross, 

The  Symbol  of  our  gift  to  free  mankind. 

And  as  I  sit  and  worship  here, 

Quietly  our  God, 

And  listen  to  the  words  of  life 

The  priest  to  us  declares, 

I  look  up  to  that  banner  of  our  youth 

Who  serve  in  this  great  Cause  of  Right, 

And  how  my  heart  fills  up  with  stirring  pride, — 

Though  there  are  times  when  sorrow  reigns  supreme. 

His  star  is  there,  the  fourth, 
Though  he  was  first  to  go. 
How  clear  it  shines  and  bold, — 
His  star,  my  son's, — 
His  star  of  radiant  gold ! 

[59] 


THE    RETURN 


FROM  THE  DEAD 

To-day,  in  bold  black  type, 

The  headlines  ran, 

"Italia  from  parleys 

Has  withdrawn, 

And  Orlando,  before  he  left 

Spoke  out  his  nation's  will." 

"The  allies  promised  us,"  he  said, 

"Trieste  and  Trentino 

And  all  the  high  and  rocky  coast 

Beyond  the  sea. 

It  was  for  these  we  fought 

And  our  brave  sons 

So  gallantly  have  died. 

And  by  the  blood  of  those  who've  gone 

We'll  have  them  all!" 

And  Wilson  answered  him, 

"Not  land,  not  wealth, 

But  Liberty  endangered, 

Called  our  men 

To  fight  and  die, 

And  now, 

The  thing  that's  right 

[60] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


And  only  that 
Shall  stand!" 

We  who  have  died, 

The  dead  of  many  nations, 

Whose  bodies  lie 

On  field  and  hill,  where  they  have  fallen, 

Whose  spirits  are  alive, 

We  cheer  him  on 

Who  stands  alone, 

And  holds  thus  high  aloft 

The  flame ! 

Land! 

What  cared  we  for  land  ? 

Ports! 

We  never  heard  their  names— 

The  comrade,  much  beloved, 

Whose  body  lies  next  mine, 

Where  gently  flows  the  Meuse 

And  flowers  bloom, 

I  heard  him  say 

Not  long  before  he  died, 

That  he  had  come 

Because  of  Poland's  wounds, 

And  I  gave  up  my  life 


THE    RETURN 


Fighting  the  Hun, 

That  Freedom  might  prevail 

And  Justice  rule  supreme. 

What  noble  thoughts,  they  were 

With  which,  they  spurred  us  on ! 

And  now  they  talk  of  ports  and  land, 

And  Orlando  has  gone  back  to  his  home 

Because  Italia  has  been  denied 

What  had  been  once  a  part  of  Venice'  Main, 

A  distant  and  protected  harbor  wall ! 

Rest  gently,  brother,  'Twill  not  be  in  vain. 

There  stands  one 

Who  guards 

The  fruit 

Of  all  your  pain. 


62 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


PEACE!      < 

They  took  from  France  Alsace  Lorraine, 
Though  thousands  bled  on  hill  and  plain. 
They  took  from  France  Alsace  Lorraine, 
The  price  of  war,  its  fruit  and  gain. 
They  took  from  France  Alsace  Lorraine 
Though  thousands  bled  on  hill  and  plain. 

But  there  were  those  who  cried  in  pain, 
Alsace!  My  Alsace  and  Lorraine! 

They  say,  the  Hun  must  give  the  Saar, 
For  he  has  fought  for  selfish  pow'r. 
They  say,  the  Hun  must  give  the  Saar 
And  pay  the  price  of  brutal  war. 
They  say,  the  Hun  must  give  the  Saar 
For  he  has  fought  for  selfish  pow'r. 

They  took  from  France  Alsace  Lorraine, 
Though  thousands  bled  on  hill  and  plain. 
They  took  from  France  Alsace  Lorraine 
But  there  were  those  who  cried  in  pain, 
Alsace!  My  Alsace  and  Lorraine! 


THE    RETURN- 


SUNSET 

OGod! 

Could  anything  be  more  lovely, 
Than  that  sky! 

That  pure,  clear,  cool 

Turquoise  blue, 

Those  streams  of  molten  gold, 

That  flame  of  red, 

And  the  rose  and  grey  haze, 

Wrapt,  as  woman's  scarf, 

Over  the  heads  .  .  . 

The  deep  black  hills, 
The  dancing  water, 
Flashing  the  colors 
<r  Thy  palette.      , 

OGod! 

Could  anything  be  more  lovely 
Than  yon  hills, 
And  our  Hay, 
And  Thy  Sky! 

[6*1 


A    BOOK.    OF    VERSE 


A  HYMN  OF  ASSURANCE 

I  know  Thou  wilt  abide 

In  all  that  life  doth  hold, 
Thou  Keeper  ot  the  told 

My  Guardian  and  Guide. 

Though  dawn,  so  pure  and  clear, 
Doth  grey  and  turn  to  mist 
I  know  the  sun  hath  kist 

The  rose  and  brought  its  cheer. 

Though  clouds  have  filled  the  sky 
And  heavy  hangs  the  day 
Assured  I  wend  my  way 

Knowing  that  Thou  art  nigh. 

Though  night  doth  draw  apace 
And  never  once  the  light 
Doth  burst  upon  my  sight 

I  know  Thy  blessed  grace. 

I  know  Thou  wilt  abide 

In  all  that  life  doth  hold 
Thou  Keeper  of  the  fold, 

My  Guardian  and  Guide. 

[651 


THE    RETURN 


SPRING  SONG  OF  A  LOVER  OF  JUDAH 

Arise O  My  Love!  Arise O  My  Love! 

Thou  fairest  of  maidens,  Come  thou  with  me. 
Come!  Come!  Come  thou  with  me, 
Thou  fairest  of  maidens,  come,  come  away! 

See  up  from  the  happy  earth  lilies  appearing. 

List!  hear  the  birds  in  the  myrtle  trees  sing. 

Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  turtle  dove  calling, 

His  love  notes  are  sounding  over  the  land. 

The  green  figs  are  filling,  the  vines  are  in  blossom, 

All  life  is  astir  and  fragrance  on  all, 

For  lo!  He  hath  drawn  the  winds  from  our  valleys, 

And  the  rain  he  hath  quenched,  whose  Spring  is  his  song! 

Arise  O  My  Love!  Arise  O  My  Love! 
Thou  fairest  of  maidens,  come  thou  with  me. 
Come!  Come!  Come  thou  with  me, 
Thou  fairest  of  maidens,  come,  come  away! 


66 


A    BOOK   OF   VERSE 

WORDS 
What  strange  things  words  are! 

The  vibration  of  carefully  stretched  cords 

Enclosed,  unfolded, 

Determined  by  position 

Of  tongue  and  teeth  and  lips 

And  form  of  throat, 

And  an  indefinable  something 

Regulating  all 

Called  brain,  or  mind  or  soul. 

Theard  a  man  utter  a  word  once, 

Which  aroused  another  to  fury, 
His  whole  being  burned 
With  consuming  anger. 
It  was  a  terrible  sight, — 
That  man,  in  his  frenzy, 
Because  of  that  word. 


THE    RETURN 


1  heard  a  word  in  the  summer  breezes, 

A  word  so  softly  sweetly  breathed 

I  scarce  did  hear  it, 

A  word  which  metamorphised 

Into  a  kiss 

A  sigh 

And  a  caress. 

I  heard  a  word  fall  softly,  quietly, 

A  word  which  sent  men  into  the  darkness 

Over  damp  fields  and  through  hedges 

And  blood  stained  fields 

To  death, 

And  to  whatever  there  is 

Left  here  after  death, 

And  to  whatever  there  is 

Beyond  death, 

Where  the  spirit  goes — 

If  it  goes. 


[68] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


What  strange  things  words  are! 

The  vibration  of  carefully  stretched  cords 

Enclosed,  unfolded 

Determined  by  position  of  tongue 

And  teeth  and  lips 

And  form  of  throat, 

And  an  indefinable  something 

Regulating  all 

Called  brain,  or  mind,  or  soul ! 


THE    RETURN 


VACHEL  LINDSAY 

Vachel  Lindsay 

Wandered  here  and  there, 

North  and  South  and  East  and  West, 

Without  wallet  or  staff, 

Singing  his  songs. 

The  dusty  roads 
Gave  back  his  music, 
With  the  voice  of  the  thrush 
In  the  fences, 
After  he  had  passed. 

The  mud-floor  shack 

Of  the  mountaineer 

Crooned  its  cabin  tunes, 

When  in  the  dew  of  early  morning, 

He  wandered  on  his  way. 

Village  and  country  places 
And  the  ugly  unkempt  towns, 
Cleaned  their  streets, 
And  washed  their  windows, 


7° 


A    BOOK   OF   VERSE 

And  painted  out  their  uncouth  signs. 
After  he  and  his  glad  singing 
Had  come  and  gone ! 

Says  Mrs.  Parks 
Of  Springfield, 
"Where  is  Vachel  now?" 

"Wandering  down  in  South  Carolina,' 
Said  a  neighbor, 
"Sticking  poems  onto 
People's  doors!" 

"Isn't  it  disgusting?"  said  another. 
"Most  disgusting,"  all  replied. 

And  still  he  dreams — 
And  sings  .  .  . 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


A  ROSE 

Beyond  a  vineclad  wall  a  lovely  rose 

Doth  bloom  within  a  garden  of  a  friend, 

And  oft  within  the  charm  it  doth  extend 

O'er  all,  I  stand  and  fondly  gaze.  Who  knows 

Such  moments  when  the  life  so  gently  flows 

As  zephyr  wafted  odors  seem  to  wend 

The  soul  away  and  fragrance  doth  attend 

As  upward  on  its  holy  way  it  goes? 

How  my  heart  longs,  as  there  I  stand  and  gaze 

To  gather  up  this  rose  of  red  and  press 

The  coolness  of  its  petals  to  my  face. 

The  Delphic  Pythian  dreamed  amid  the  haze 

And  saw  Truth  rise,  as  I,  without  caress 

Of  rose,  see  Fate  adown  the  road  apace! 


THE    RETURN 


THE  MAGNATE 

The  button's  there.  The  heater's  just  below 

That  silver  plate  beneath  the  seat,  and  when 

'Tis  on,  as  now,  it  gives  a  temperature 

Of  seventy  upon  the  coldest  day. 

You've  been  here  long  enough  to  know,  I'm  sure, 

How  cold  can  be  the  weather  in  these  streets, 

These  man-made  canyons,  which  we  call  New  York. 

This  car — there's  not  another  one  in  town, 

In  all  of  Gotham,  like  this  car  of  mine, — 

Was  made  for  me  by  Count  d'Estrees  the  year 

The  war  broke  out.  He  said  his  expert  men 

In  all  his  shops  united  to  produce 

The  finest  car  of  all  the  year.  And  then 

He  sent  it  me  as  a  mark  of  his  esteem. 

Though  there  was  trouble,  I  will  grant,  before 

He  got  it  shipped.  But  as  you  know  his  power 

And  mine  are  great  enough  to  set  aside 

Whatever  laws  may  here  or  there  prevail. 

I  mean  laws  technical.  The  moral  laws 

Are  binding  on  us  all !     Ah !  notice  there 

The  tower  beyond  the  sun.  How  bright  it  shines! 

We  pass  the  building  several  corners  up 

Of  which  it  is  the  top.  It  is,  I  think, 

[731 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


The  highest  in  New  York.  The  other  day 

I  bought  it  on  the  Street,  will  you  believe, 

For  just  a  paltry  sum.  Our  copper  mines 

Are  coming  on  so  well  that  we  can  do 

That  sort  of  thing  without  concern.  It  came 

So  cheap  because  the  money's  not  so  free 

As  several  months  ago  before  the  war 

Was  on.  You  know,  I've  made  in  copper  more 

This  year  than  in  the  twenty  others  passed 

In  which  I've  owned  the  Rostock  vein.  And  that 

Despite  the  heavy  tax  of  every  sort 

They  make  us  big  ones  bear.  Just  now,  as  you 

Perhaps  have  read,  a  heady  bunch  have  held 

Our  smelter  up.  Such  idle  fellows  as 

Come  round  to  stir  the  worker's  ire.  Yet  not 

To  open  strike  but  to  in  subtle  ways 

Delay  the  work,  to  damage  or  destroy 

The  plants.  They  say  it's  German  gold  and  I 

Believe  they're  right,  though  there  is  much  not  so 

Explained.  In  Bisbee  now  there  is,  I'm  told 

A  brewing  such  a  mess  as  may  result 

In  something  even  worse  than  war.  You  see 

The  President,  he  doesn't  understand. 

He  talks  a  lot,  and  what  he  says  sounds  good. 

But  Samuel  Gompers  and  that  crowd  have  got 


74 


THE    RETURN 


His  ears  more  than  the  rest  of  us  who've  made 

This  land,  who've  brought  the  peace  and  wealth  and  power 

Which  we  have  known  now  for  many  years. 

If  we  had  men  like  Root  or  Taft  or  some 

One  of  McKinley's  sort  for  these  hard  days! 

We're  now  at  Central  Park.  The  bronze  beyond 

St.  Gaudens  made.  Tis  General  Sherman  of 

Our  Civil  War.  And  here  reside,  as  you 

French  say,  the  big  bonnets  of  our  great  land. 

Our  house  is  farther  up  and  on  the  Drive, 

But  closed  just  now.  My  wife  prefers  to  stay 

Up  in  the  hills  until  the  Fall  is  passed, 

And  Maude — our  only  child — has  gone  to  France 

As  canteen  girl.  This  snapshot  came  to-day 

From  St.  Nazaire,  where  she  is  serving  now. 

You'll  recognize  the  Bretonnes  by  their  caps. 

See  those  big  straw  filled  shoes  on  that  sweet  lass 

By  Maudie's  side.  Fair?  Yes,  but  strong.  She  has 

Her  mother's  build  and  eyes  and  mother's  heart 

But  all  the  energy  and  power  of  her 

Old  dad!  Sometimes  I  cannot  help  but  wish 

She  were  a  boy.  There  just  across  the  road's 

Our  gallery.  It's  not  your  Louvre,  but  then 

It's  coming  on,  and  some  collections  there, 

The  gobelins — they're  mine — are  now  as  fine 

[751 


A    BOOK.    OF    VERSE 


As  any  that  I  know.  I'd  like  to  take 

You  through  it  while  you're  here,  though  I  presume 

Your  time  is  filled.  The  church  beyond  the  store 

Is  where  you'll  speak.  I've  been  an  elder  there 

For  thirty  years.  Oh  yes,  I'm  older  than 

You  think.  I've  trained  my  body  as  I  train 

My  office  force  and  all  who  work  for  me 

And  serve  my  will.     A  morning  plunge,  some  time 

Each  day  upon  the  links,  or  walking  through 

The  hills,  keeps  me  so  trim  and  strong  and  young. 

Then  I've  gone  straight  you  know — no  vices  that 

Break  down  the  vigor  of  a  man,  and  not 

A  drop  of  wine  for  years !  Sounds  strange  to  you, 

Though  chaplain  that  you  are  ?  You  think  of  all 

Those  vintages  at  home  in  poor  Champagne. 

That  limestone  on  the  corner's  Carnegies'. 

You've  heard  of  him — a  wonder  in  his  day — 

But  now  enfeebled  and  we  fear  will  soon 

Pass  on.  He  came  here  steerage  so  they  say, 

But  how  he  forged  ahead!  This  land  of  ours 

Is  such  a  place  where  anyone  who  has 

The  brain  and  fire  of  daring  soul  can  go 

Ahead,  and  scale  whatever  heights  he  will. 

That's  why  I  have  no  sympathy  with  all 

This  wild  roaring  crowd  of  reds  who  pester  now 

[76] 


THE    RETURN 


As  stinging  flies  upon  a  patient  horse. 

Most  all  of  our  great  men  were  born  poor, 

And  some  from  poverty  arose,  because 

They  had  the  might  of  will.     And  they  who  stay 

Below  stay  there  because  they  have  not  in 

Themselves  the  power  to  rise.  And  that's  the  crowd 

The  under  inefficient  noisy  ones 

That  Wilson  listens  to.  My  father  had 

A  farm  up  Haarlem  way,  not  far  from  where 

Our  car  is  passing  now.  'Twas  just  a  small 

And  scraggly  unproductive  farm,  and  when 

He  died,  at  fifteen,  I  went  forth  to  fight 

The  world.  And  what  I've  done  could  anyone 

Who  has  the  power  within  him,  as  I  say, 

To  go  ahead.  They  who  succeed  are  those 

Who  well  deserve  success.  And  they  who  fail 

They  fail  because  they  are  themselves.  They  need 

Our  aid.  The  charities,  I  help,  and  serve 

Upon  their  boards,  and  do,  if  I  may  say, 

Munificently  support.  They  need  as  well 

Our  sympathy.  But  when  the  workers  join 

And  seek  the  mines,  the  shops,  the  railroads,  and 

The  business  of  the  world  and  government 

To  run  to  ruin,  'tis  then  I  fight  and  all 

My  power  in  Wall  Street  and  at  Washington 


77 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


I'll  turn  to  put  them  down !  What  right  have  they 

To  tell  me  how  to  run  my  mines  ?  Well,  here 

WVreback.  How  fast  the  time  has  gone!  You'll  lunch 

With  us  on  Sunday  after  church.  And  as 

I  said,  I'll  gladly  give  to  further  your 

Great  work.  The  orphans  most  of  all  disturb 

My  heart.  My  check  was  mailed  to  you  to-day. 

And  if  you  wish  I'll  act  as  treasurer. 

It's  nothing,  sir!  The  office  force  can  care 

For  all  the  mail  without  increase  and  if 

My  name  can  serve  you,  why,  of  course,  it's  yours! 

It's  been  a  pleasant  ride.  Jones,  have  that  boy, 

There  shiv'ring  by  the  post,  bring  me  The  Times 

How  cold  it  is  outside!  Goodbye,  my  friend. 

My  salutations  to  your  croix  du  guerre! 


78] 


THE    RETURN 


A  PRAYER  FOR  THE  COUNTRY 

O  Jehovah,  God  of  the  High  Heavens, 

Creator — Preserver — Governor, 

Thou  that  keepest  covenant  with  them 

That  love  Thee  and  do  Thy  will; 

God  of  Justice, 

Bless  our  Native  Land  we  pray. 

Bless  the  chosen  guardians, 

Who  make,  interpret,  and  execute  the  laws. 

May  they  do  all  in  accordance  with  Thy  will. 

Bless  our  institutions. 

The  Home,  the  Church,  the  School, 

And  all  others 

Restraining  evil,  promoting  happiness, 

Building  up  character, 

And  fostering  true  knowledge  and  faith  in  Thee. 

Bless  especially  and  guide 

In  this  great  crisis,  amid  distress, 

Perplexity,  suffering  and  war, 

Our  Armies — Our  Navies, 

And  all  other  forces 

Making  the  arm  strong,  the  judgment  sure, 

The  heart  courageous  and  the  end  certain. 

Let  the  sacrifice  of  life, 

[79] 


A    BOOK    OF    VERSE 


The  burden  of  pain, 

The  weary  watches, 

The  love  in  absence 

Bear  fruit  in  Victory, 

In  Holiness, 

In  Freedom  and  World  Peace, 

Through  Christ,  Thy  Son, 

Whose  reign  shall  never  end. 

AMEN, 


7361  B3 


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